


The Name of Every Star

by TheGirlWithBrightEyes



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Memories, Old Age, Prose Poem, Reflection, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 15:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19976074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithBrightEyes/pseuds/TheGirlWithBrightEyes
Summary: Sometimes, the Doctor dwells.





	The Name of Every Star

**Author's Note:**

> Unspecified Doctor. Possibly Ten, Eleven or Twelve.
> 
> The Quote is from The Girl in the Fireplace.

_You know all their names, don't you? I saw that in your mind. The name of every star._

Sometimes the Doctor dwells on memories. Long gone meetings, mere flashes in a long life, littered with the corpses of everyone, everything he has ever cared about.

Stardust.

It's what everything was born from, and it's where everything will eventually return. He knows this. Knows it all too well, but...

Sometimes he dwells, still...

Chance meetings. A kiss, then gone in a flash. A moment of triumph. A moment of passion. A lifetime of regrets... yet it all passes. He forgets. Eventually. Pushes it back in a mind once organised that is getting more and more cluttered every day.

It's so _hard_ to keep track.

Time is not a straight line. He cannot remember a time it ever was. Not really. Only flashes of times past, dreams flickering like dying stars. He hasn't dared to dream in a long time now. He knows all to well where dreams will bring him.

Merely a distraction from life. Shattered.

After such a long life, he's learned not to. No dreams would ever last. They're just that - dreams. Castles in the night sky as you draw lines between the stars with your fingertips.

Nothing more, nothing less.

They aren't even a goal. He has none. Not anymore. He lives his life like a dragonfly, day by day. His bloodied hands tired but he has to go on. Has to keep on going. Trying.

It's become his sole purpose. Drifting where the winds will take him, do what he can for those he meets. Hope that one day, these bloodied hands will feel less so.

But somehow he doubts they ever will. 


End file.
